“It’s an envelope.” His voice was dry. “And it’s not going to bite. So just open it already.”
She wished he couldn’t read her thoughts so easily. “Don’t be so impatient.”
He made a soft sound. “Some things just happen naturally when I’m around you.”
She felt abruptly scorched and her gaze flew up to his, which did not improve the situation. A lump lodged in her throat and she hastily lowered her lashes, looking at the envelope again.
Suddenly, it seemed far less dangerous to focus on it rather than getting caught up in the blue fire of his eyes. She tore open the envelope and extracted the folded papers inside. As she did so, a bank check slid out from the center.
She frowned a little, glancing at it, only to do a double take at the number of zeros scrawled in his slanting black script. She dropped the check on the desk and shoved back in her wheeled chair so hard that it rocked against the credenza behind her. “Is this some sort of joke?”
He moved the check from the edge of the desk back to the center of the leather blotter. “I’ve never thought that much money was all that funny.”
She looked from his face back to the check. It was an astronomical sum, with his name imprinted on one corner, his signature on the other. Her name stood out clearly in the center of it all. “You can’t have money like this.”
But his perfectly serious expression told her that he most certainly could.
“Maybe I should have gone to handyman school,” she quipped, but the humor fell flat. “I’m probably going to regret this, but what on earth did you do to earn that kind of money?”
“What if I told you I inherited it?”
She watched him narrowly. It was possible, she supposed. Since living in Weaver, she’d learned that the Clay family in general were quite well-off, mostly because of the Double-C Ranch. It was unusually large. And uncommonly successful. But his father was the retired sheriff and, while his mother was the administrator at the hospital, Mallory doubted that even Rebecca earned half of what the check was worth.
Something in Ryan’s expression told her this wasn’t related in any way to that, anyway. “I’d say you weren’t telling me the truth. And I’m quite certain you didn’t earn it in the navy, or every red-blooded boy and girl in this country would have enlisted by now. So…?” She lifted her eyebrows, waiting.
“HW Industries paid well.”
She snorted. “Not that well. Cassie had a healthy nest egg saved up, but it was gone in the first year, primarily thanks to Chloe’s medical expenses.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His hands were suddenly planted on the desk in front of her as he leaned closer. “Chloe was sick?”
“She was premature,” Mallory reminded him. “She had some heart issues that required surgery. And now she’s perfectly fine. But even with insurance, that sort of care comes with a price tag and I was grateful to have Cassie’s savings to fall back on.” Particularly when she, herself, had been nearly incapable of working for months after her sister’s death.
She picked up the check and waved it between them. “And distracting me isn’t going to work, Ryan. What is all of this about?”
“It would just be easier if you’d read the papers,” he said gruffly.
Easier maybe, but she was painfully afraid to do so. Particularly in light of the check.
She’d legally adopted her niece. But Ryan was Chloe’s natural father and, evidently, a very wealthy one at that.
If he were to force the issue of Chloe’s custody, what sort of chance would she stand against him?
She finally exhaled and snatched up the papers, unfolding them with fingers that visibly trembled. But instead of custody papers, or even child-support issues, it was a will.
Ryan’s will.
And in it, he was leaving all of his worldly possessions to his daughter, Chloe Kathleen Keegan. And naming Mallory as the trustee until Chloe reached her majority.
Her chest grew tight. Achy. She flipped past the concise will to the second page. It was a bank statement of some sort, but not like any that she’d ever seen. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s a trust for you and Chloe. You can use it however you see fit. Chloe’s education. Housing for the three of you. Medical. Pay off your school loans if you want. It’s all set up for you. You just have to go into the bank sometime soon to sign a paper or two.”
A paper or two. She felt as if she’d dropped down the rabbit hole. Her eyes finally found the bottom line of the statement and the amount there made the check seem nearly minor in comparison.
Ryan wasn’t wealthy. He was rich. Period.
“What if I wanted to go live in Tahiti,” she asked faintly. “Donate hundreds of thousands to further research in ant migration?”
He smiled faintly. “You wouldn’t.”
“How do you know that!”
“Because you’re my daughter’s mother and everything you do is because of her. And because I trust you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mallory’s eyes suddenly burned. She carefully refolded the papers and placed them, along with the check, back inside the envelope. And that she set carefully in the center of the desk blotter, where it sat staring up at her like a rectangular, white eye.
The only sound in the building came from the soft gurgling of the filter on the aquarium.
She finally looked up at him. “What do you expect in exchange for all of this?”
His eyes narrowed. “Exchange?”
“Yes. Exchange.” Nervous energy propelled her out of her chair, but that only succeeded in leaving her nowhere to move except to the other side of the desk where he was. It was either that, or sit back down, and she badly needed to be on her feet. It gave her some sense of equality with him, even if it was only an illusion. “My agreement that I won’t take Chloe back with me to New York, I suppose?”
He let out a rough breath. “I’m not trying to buy Chloe, Mallory. I’m not trying to take her away from you at all. Christ, if that’s what I’d wanted, I’d be in here with my attorney!”
She folded her arms across her chest, feeling she was sinking deeper into a hole that was lined with questions she had no hope of getting answered. “Then what do you want?”
“The impossible.” He turned away from her and moved to the window that overlooked the street and the empty antique store across the way. The light outside was already slanting toward evening. “I want my life to be what it used to be, and it’s never going to happen.”
She fiddled with the stethoscope that she’d forgotten around her neck. “Because of Chloe?”
“Because of me.” He turned to look at her. But his face was in shadow and all she could hear was that flat, emotionless tone of voice that tore at her insides. “Because of the things I’ve done that I can’t undo.”
She could barely draw a breath for fear that he wouldn’t continue. For fear that he would. And that whatever wounds he carried inside him were far beyond her ability to heal. “What things?”
“You really want to know how I came by the money?”
Did she? What if he’d been involved in something illegal. Something unsavory and—
She shut off the ridiculous thoughts.
He wasn’t just anyone.
He was Ryan. Cassie had trusted him.
And even if not for Cassie, Mallory knew in her heart that she trusted him, too. If she hadn’t, she never would have told Chloe that he was her father.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I want to know.”
“I helped buy and sell beautiful girls just like my sister to the highest bidder. Ten years old. Twelve. Fifteen. Didn’t matter, just as long as they were blonde and ivory-skinned and full of innocence.”
Her heart seemed to stop beating for what seemed an eternity. She couldn’t see his expression, but she could see the way his hands were rolled into fists.
Before she even realized she’d done it, she took a step toward him. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why? Because you think I wouldn’t admit it if it were true?” A jetliner could have landed in the void of his voice.
She took another step.
He was stuck between the desk, the window…and her.
“Because you’re not capable of doing any such thing.”
“Well, believe it, Doc. I worked right alongside a man who’s a brother to the devil himself and I couldn’t stop him. So if you were smart—and we both know you are—you’d take that money and run.”
With every minute that passed, the sky outside the window was turning darker. But a light inside her head was starting to glimmer.
The money wasn’t an attempt to make her stay.
It was a reason to get her to go.
“That’s what all that—” she waved toward the desk “—is about, isn’t it? It’s just a tool for you. Some method of trying to convince me you’re not fit to be a father.”
“Are you listening to a word I’ve said?”
“I’ll listen when the words you say are the truth! The whole truth and not some…some piece of whatever horror it is that you’re carrying around with you!” She was shaking inside, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She wasn’t going to be silent now, when someone mattered this much.
Someone?
Ryan.
She stopped directly in front of him. “What are you afraid of? Chloe already has you wrapped around her finger. You already care.” He hadn’t been able to hide that. Who could when one was dealing with Chloe’s generous heart? “The worst has happened, so why try to get us out of the picture now?” Lord knows they were going to have to go soon enough.
He’d seemed fine when they’d driven to Braden and traipsed through stores and eaten lunch at a hole-in-the-wall deli and driven home again with Chloe falling asleep on the seat between them.
What had happened since then to make him take such action?
“Right now I’m a novelty to Chloe. She was fine before she knew about me and she’ll be fine after, too.”
His choice of words sent a tidal wave of dismay coursing through her. “You make it sound as if you’ve already decided to disappear from her life!”
His fists became hands again, his fingers latching onto her shoulders with obvious restraint as he nudged her aside until she was no longer blocking his exit.
Then he let her go as if he couldn’t bear to touch her.
“I’m not going to take this money, Ryan,” she said to his back as he started to leave the office. “Not a dime of it.”
He stopped and pivoted on his heel to face her again. “Dammit, Mallory. At least be smart about this.”
“This is probably the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” she said swiftly. “You think that money—the way you claim you earned it, I guess—gives you an exit pass from your daughter’s life and you are wrong!”
“You’ve got a name for that empty baby book page, and now you’ve got enough money to give her everything she’ll need to grow up and be like you.”
“And not like you? That’s what you really mean, isn’t it?”
“I’m not the kind of man you should want for your daughter.”
“What would you like me to do, then, Ryan?” She spread her hands. “Go find some nice, suitable man to marry and he can be the one to help Chloe with her homework and teach her to drive and scare off her first boyfriend and walk her down the aisle when she gets married? Is that what you want?”
He slammed his knuckles against the bookcase and she jumped.
But his voice, when it finally came, held no violence. “No,” he said. His voice was simply…defeated.
And just that quickly, she wanted to weep.
And it had nothing whatsoever to do with their daughter. Her heart would be breaking for him if there were no Chloe at all.
But there was, or they wouldn’t be here right now at all.
As if he no longer possessed the energy to stand, he sank down on the edge of the desk. He ran his palm down his face. “No,” he said again.
Quaking inside, she stepped up to him, slowly lifted her hand and stroked back the thick hair above his temple. She kissed his forehead as gently as she kissed Chloe when she didn’t want to wake her. “It will be all right,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes. A soundless sigh worked through him.
And then his hands slid around her waist and he pulled her into his body. His head found her shoulder.
She wrapped her arms around him. Pressed her cheek to his head. If there was nothing else she could accomplish, she was desperate to give him some ease.
So she stood there.
Just holding him while her heart ached and his arms held her so tightly she could feel the anguish writhing inside him like some tangible beast. Just holding him as the light outside the windows slanted even more deeply into shadow and the office grew dimmer and the light inside the aquarium on the credenza grew brighter, casting a small, warm glow.
She didn’t know exactly when the tension inside them both shifted, but it did. And his palms were flat against her spine, the warmth of his breath drifting over her neck, the faint rasp of his jaw abrading the underside of her chin.
And when his mouth found hers, she was waiting.
As if she’d been waiting her entire life.
There was no playing around, no teasing, no tempting. Just an endless, consuming, deep kiss from which she never wanted to surface.
But a person has to breathe and, eventually, necessity simply won out.
Her head fell back as she hauled in oxygen, feeling his chest expand against her while he did the same. Through her sweater she could feel the imprint of every one of his fingers against her back and craved the feel of them on her skin, instead.
“We’re going to make love on this desk unless there’s another spot in this office.” His voice was low. Rough. And it sent a thrilling ripple through the very core of her.
“Couch.” She managed to form the words. “In the reception area.”
He pushed off the desk and his hands moved to her hips, tightening dangerously there for a long, long moment as he held her fast.
She felt branded by him. And sucked in a startled breath when he suddenly moved and lifted her up. One of her black leather pumps slipped right off her foot, but she barely noticed as his mouth covered hers again, stealing every speck of caution that still remained.
She was vaguely aware of motion; he was carrying her out of the office. Down the darkened hall. Unerringly ending in the reception area where he followed her down onto the couch that had been designed more to accommodate as many patients as possible than for comfort.
With one strong arm beneath her, he positioned her along the narrow length, and settled between her thighs.
They were still both fully clothed, but her fingers greedily gathered that nubby silk fabric, tugging it free of his belt until she could reach the hot skin beneath. And he was no less impatient, his fingertips grazing against her as he undid the tiny pearl-like buttons of her peach-colored sweater. And when he reached the hem, he smoothed it to the sides as if he were unwrapping a precious gift. Then slowly, so slowly she could have cried, he pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat and moved his hands beneath the thin knit to close over her breasts, and she nearly bowed off the couch altogether.
He made a soft, wordless sound. Male. Approving. So deeply erotic that she felt buffeted by need.
He found the center clasp of her bra and stripped the thin cups away and then his thumbs were brushing over and around her anxiously tight nipples. She fisted her hands in his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers.
He made that low sound again and kissed her. Hotter. Harder. She moaned with frustration when he slipped away again before she was at all satisfied.
He pushed off the couch, but her protest died when she heard the jangle of his belt buckle. The rustle of clothing. In the dark, she could only make out the tall, broad shape of him, the faint sheen of flesh as he m
oved.
And then his hands were on her waist again. Unerringly finding the zipper of her slacks, drawing it down, stripping away her clothes with such certain, purposeful movements that she felt dizzy. And then there was nothing at all between them.
Not even a breath.
Her legs slid against his, reveling in the rougher texture, the roping shape and length of his calves, the bunching of his thighs when her fingers trailed from the crisp whorls of hair on his chest and down his ribs to his hips. “We should have turned on the light,” she whispered only to end on a groan when she felt his mouth close over her nipple. “I want to see you.”
“You won’t like what you see.”
“I doubt that.” Her hands followed the slope of his back. Dipped lower over hard, tight curves and tried to pull him even closer, to end the torment and take everything that she was so desperately willing to give. “You’re killing me.”
“Now you know how I feel. Nearly every time I close my eyes, this is what’s in my head.” He slowly moved over her until his mouth was brushing against hers. Her breasts were crushed beneath the hard wall of chest. His hands caressed her thighs. Shaped her knees. Climbed again, only this time on the inside.
Her head fell back and she cried out when his hand found the center of her. Eager. Wet. Ready. “Please—” He was pushing too fast, too hard, and she was going to come apart at the seams. And she wanted him to be a part of her, first. She twined her legs around his. “Ryan, I can’t wait—”
“I can’t either.” With one stroke, he claimed her.
She gasped, the pleasure careening through her reaching a mindless pitch.
His hands found hers, fingers threading, palms meeting. She could hear his harsh breath and feel his racing heart, which matched her own.
This wasn’t just sex. Basic lovemaking.
It was a total and complete undoing of her sense of self.
She didn’t know where either one of them began or ended.
Nor did it matter, as the whirlwind tightened, binding them together in a hungry, spinning frenzy before it catapulted them into perfection.
And when he groaned her name and his arms tightened around her like iron bands that might never set her free, Mallory knew that there was one place in the universe for her to be, and this was it.
A Weaver Holiday Homecoming Page 16